


What's Past Is Prologue

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supervillain Rusty, The Doctor Is Sin au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 01:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13583184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: “How is the doc, anyway? Have you heard from him recently?”“Alas, no.” Orpheus said solemnly. “The last I saw of him was shortly after you and the boys left the compound. I went by to see if perhaps he needed some cheering up, poor fellow, all alone in that huge empty place, and he threw me out.” Orpheus’s tone grew colder. “I daresay that Killinger fellow brainwashed him, yes? Turned him away from the things and people he loved. I cannot think of any other reason he’d allow you and the children to be parted from him, he always seemed so devoted to you all.”Brock felt something cold slide down into his stomach, and he took a quick spoonful of his soup which did nothing to counter the effect. “You think?” He grunted after a moment.An AU following the divergence that Rusty took Killinger's offer at the end of The Doctor Is Sin.





	What's Past Is Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The Doctor Is Sin killed my ass dead and my friends are very into supervillain Rusty, so here's this fresh nonsense. I've literally only watched up through the first half of S3 because I was so impatient to write this, it's not rigorously canonical with anything that came after, I'd guess.

At first Brock thought Killinger might be good for the doc. He’d never seen his employer so productive and confident in his life, and Brock figured if that came with kicking Orpheus and Triana out and reducing him to bored boarder that was alright. He’d been getting sick of fighting off new potential arches, anyway.

Even signing that damn contract and taking up with the Guild was something Brock could handle; he’d learned years ago that good and evil were names for sides and that really, when it came down to it, the kind of organized crime the Guild did wasn’t any worse than the kind of organized crime the military or the OSI did. If the doc wanted to dress up in spandex and blue goggles and harass his brother, well, more power to him. Maybe it would help him work through some of his issues, Brock figured. He stuck around, because that was what he _did_ , and he did his best to smooth over the concern Hank and Dean had for their dad’s new line of work.

And then Brock got a call from Billy and White that the doc had cancelled their book club. White complained at length about how none of the other villains they’d ever been in contact with stopped doing normal life things just because they were focused on work. Brock promised White he would talk to the doc for him, maybe check and make sure he wasn’t tiring himself out with whatever he was building for the Guild that week.

Doctor Venture was distant and dismissive when Brock stuck his head into the lab, and Brock had to physically tear him away from the mechanical invention he was working on.

“What’s gotten into you? Let go of me.” Doc snapped, rubbing at his arm when Brock released him.

“Billy and White called me. I think they’re worried about you.”

The doctor crossed his arms and stood up straighter. “What makes you say that?”

“They told me you cancelled the book club. You love doing that book club, _god only knows why_ …” Brock muttered this last bit, thinking back to the time he’d walked in on the three men and Orpheus yelling at each other at the top of their lungs about what exactly constituted “too girly” when it came to vampires.

“Oh.” Doc visibly relaxed, letting out a small sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you, big man.” He patted Brock’s arm. “I’ve got a lot of work lined up for the next couple of months and I don’t want to make commitments I don’t know I’ll be able to keep, you know? I might have to be somewhere else on book club days. It’s not anything to _worry_ about.”

Brock grunted. That was unusually considerate of the man, in a weird way. “Just don’t burn yourself out, Doc. I don’t wanna be checking you into a rehab center in six months because you tried to replace food and sleep with amphetamines again.”

Doc laughed and waved a hand. “I think those days are behind me. Things are finally looking up for Rusty Venture.”

At the time, there was a small prickling feeling in the back of Brock’s mind that wondered whether that was really true, but he dismissed it. If the man was so determined to make this work he wasn't going to get involved.

A month or so later Orpheus called Brock. Mr Venture hadn’t been by to borrow anything or invite himself to Orpheus’s home-cooked dinner in a while and he was worried. Brock let him know he would talk to him about it and did his best to reassure Orpheus everything was fine. Orpheus had sniffed about the Guild and hung up, and Brock had sighed and gone to bang on the door of Doc’s room.

“You know it’s really not good for you to shut people out and focus on work, right?” He asked from the doorway. Doc continued changing into pajamas, not looking at him.

“This isn’t like… _last time_ , you know. I’m not ignoring anybody. I’m just busy.”

“Really? Because it sure seems like the same thing’s happening again.”

“Look.” Doc rounded on him, buttoning the silky pajama top the Guild had sent him upon his full approval paperwork going through the week before. “Last time I’d just thrown the mother of my children into a mental institution. I think it was to be expected that I’d have some kind of breakdown then. This isn’t like that. I’m making things. I’m making _money_. We can finally afford to get the east wing cleared out and updated because of me spending a little more time working than I used to, I think that’s worth the occasional cancelled plan.”

Brock shrugged, watching Doc with narrowed eyes. “I’m just saying now, if I have to say ‘I told you so’ about this…”

“You won’t.” He snapped. “Now go away so I can get some sleep.”

After that Brock kept a closer eye on Doc’s comings and goings, his hours, his interactions, and he didn’t like what he was watching happen at all. The man spent nearly eighteen hours a day locked in the lab and sometimes went a full week without exchanging more than two words with Hank or Dean. The only reason he spoke more to Brock was because Brock had taken to bringing him food a couple times a day.

Eventually, Brock put his foot down. “This can’t be good for anybody, you or the boys.” He grumbled. “We haven’t gone out as a family in months.”

“So, what, you want me to take you all with me the next time I go to Spider Skull Island?” Doc said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m heading out next week. As soon as I get _this_ little beauty-“ Doc tapped on the contraption on the desk with a small socket wrench, “finished and shipped out to her new home with Flaming Satan- which, by the way, can you believe the kinds of names the Guild approves? Ridiculous- I’m going to go down there and test out the paralysis field.”

Brock put his head in his hands and groaned. “No, Doc, I… we all need a break. We should go, I dunno, to the beach or something.”

“You want to go _on vacation_?” Doc scoffed.

“I think the boys need a change of scenery. They can’t live their entire lives in the compound.”

Doc looked thoughtful. “No.” He said after a few moments, his tone pensive. “No, they can’t.” he cleared his throat and smiled up at Brock, the kind of easy, comfortable smile he wore so rarely. “Thank you, Brock.”

Brock couldn’t help but smile back, just a little. “That’s what I’m here for.”

That evening the boys came running into Brock’s room, nearly hysterical.

“I can’t believe it, we've been pestering him about public school for years but-“

“It’s because he’s a villain now, he doesn’t love us anymore-“

“You’ve been saying that for the last six years, he loves us just fine-“

“BOYS.” Brock shouted, and they fell silent, looking up at him with confusion and hurt. Dean’s lip was trembling.

“What’s going on?” Brock asked, his tone determinedly calm.

“Did you know Daddy was going to send us away to boarding school?” Dean demanded. Brock’s mouth fell open slightly as he stared at the pair.

Hank rounded on Dean. “See, I _told_ you he didn’t know, or he would have done something about it already. Brock won’t let Dad send us away.” He rounded on Brock with a pleading look in his eyes. “Right, Brock?”

Brock sat down heavily on his bed and, after a moment, gestured for the boys to join him. Dean rushed to him and buried his face in Brock’s shoulder like he was six years old and had woken up from a nightmare. Hank sat down more slowly but leaned into Brock’s arm around him as well.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Brock said after a while, waiting for Dean to stop crying, “but I know your dad loves both of you very much. He’s always done what he thought was best for you.” Whether the things Doc had done were _actually_ the best things for the boys was another matter, Brock thought coolly. “I’ll talk to him. Don’t get all worked up just yet, okay?”

“Okay.” Dean said in a very small voice. Brock ruffled his hair and gave Hank’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Why don’t you two get back to bed? I’ll go talk to the old man.”

The boys got up and headed out of the room, and Hank turned back as Brock got up and walked towards the door as well. “You’re not gonna let Dad go full dark side, are you?”

“Your father doesn’t have what it takes to go full dark side.” Brock reassured him.

That might be the case, but an hour of shouting later, Brock hadn’t been able to change the man’s mind about boarding school. Someone was coming by for Hank and Dean and their things the next morning, to take them to a secure school that had a very strict Guild instated non-interference policy. They’d be safe there from any other villains and would receive a top-rate education that would streamline them well into college, even accounting for the memory degradation that came as a natural result of the cloning process.

“And weren’t you the one who was saying they needed a more stimulating environment? Weren’t _you_ the one who used to nag me about their social development?” Doc had yelled towards the end.

“Well, yeah, but… _Doc_.”

“Don’t. This is what’s happening. The boys will get a better education, and a chance for a more normal life, and I’ll have some peace and quiet to get my work done.”

“Since when have you wanted peace and quiet?” Brock deadpanned. Doc didn’t find this amusing.

“Oh, go away.” He said despairingly, waving a hand. Then he pushed his glasses up his nose and fixed Brock with a stony expression. “No, actually _, go away_. I want you to leave. Once the boys are gone I won’t be needing a _babysitter_ anymore.”

“I’m your bodyguard.” Brock corrected him.

“Not anymore, you’re not.”

 

Brock saw the boys off the next morning, releasing them into the care of a tall, thin, birdlike woman with sharp little glasses and well-manicured nails. He’d hugged them both and promised to write, and then he’d gotten into his car, loaded with cardboard boxes, a life’s worth of possessions. Doc was not there to say goodbye to any of them.

“I hope you know what you’re doin’, Doc.” Brock muttered to himself as he pulled out of the garage and drove away.

Brock didn’t trust Rusty Venture, per se, but he did know him well enough to say with some confidence that he was harmless. The man weighed a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet and had nearly electrocuted himself changing a lightbulb on two separate occasions. The only person he was really a danger to was himself, and if he was determined to keep people from helping him, well, Brock thought as he sped along the highway, it was his own grave.

And so Brock settled into a different life. He turned in the last of his reports to the OSI and was reassigned to a new case, which he had to admit was a lot more fun than keeping an eye on the Venture family. He killed bad guys and he prevented assassinations and he and Molotov Cocktease resumed their long-standing circling of each other. He won awards and he slowly climbed the ranks in the OSI and he only thought about the Ventures when he wrote to the boys or when he took down another villain and saw the Venture logo on the equipment they’d been using.

The world continued to turn, just as Brock had thought it would. The boys seemed to like school, and the time between their letters grew and grew until they only wrote to Brock to send him a Christmas card or to invite him to their graduation. He attended mostly because he was confident Doc wouldn’t, and he was right. He’d offered to pay in full for Hank to study mechanical engineering and for Dean to go to college for journalism, so he was obviously making some money selling tech to the Guild, but he didn’t seem to be making any great waves and Brock was… content with that. It wasn’t how he had wanted all of their lives to go, but he could live with it.

It didn’t start to all unravel for a long time. Brock was on a clean-up mission when he started to wonder about Rusty Venture again. A villain had managed to kill his archenemy, an extremely rare occurrence in any case. Arching was about antagonism and destruction, definitely, but the guild laws were intended to prevent deaths and did a damn good job of it most of the time. But this guy had been absolutely slaughtered by his well-matched arch. They shouldn’t have been able to really hurt each other anyway, they were both level 3s, fairly new at the game.

OSI had dispatched people to take apart the man’s apartment and gather intel. Brock wasn’t really sure why he’d been assigned to the mission- forensics wasn’t really in his wheelhouse- until they started going through the man's stuff and found a small black box with the Venture logo on it.

Brock’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he looked at the thing his temporary partner for the case was holding. He wasn’t really listening to her explanation of the crime scene. He was already thinking about the conversation he was gonna have to have with his superiors when he got back to base.

Brock took the box from his partner when she offered it and tucked it into his bag. Several hours later he slammed it down on the general’s desk.

“What’s this about Samson?” Treister asked, squinting down at the object.

“You know damn well what.” Brock growled. “This is why you sent me on that clean-up.”

“Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Brock’s hand twitched for his knife but he pushed the urge away. “Don’t play dumb. I don’t go on clean-up missions. Usually I’m the one who necessitates a clean-up. You sent me in case I knew anything about this.” He gestured to the box.

“Do you?” Treister pressed. Brock snorted.

“No more than you’ve already guessed. Venture made it. It’s probably responsible for whatever happened between that dead protagonist back there and his arch.”

“And do you have any theory as to how?”

Brock blinked. “Why would I?” Was the man accusing him of collusion?

“Maybe you have some insight? You observed Doctor Venture for twenty years, you knew him.”

“I _thought_ I did.” He moved to put the box back into his bag, but Treister leaned forward and cut him off before he could grab it.

“What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“I wanna have an old friend look at it.” Brock crossed his arms as Treister laughed.

“Oh no, I can assure you that the top OSI scientists need this more than your friend does.”

Brock sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wanting nothing more than to punch the man behind the desk. “Whoever you have take a look at that, make sure they’re careful with it, okay?”

Treister waved dismissively. “Thank you, Samson. You may go.”

Brock went, his head whirring with plans on how to steal the box back. He really needed Billy and White’s opinions on this, they probably knew Doc’s tech best of anybody in the world. It was gonna be a struggle getting it back, though.

Brock ducked into his quarters and locked the door, then pulled out the watch he kept in a box in the small closet. “Orpheus?”

“My dear fellow, how long it’s been since I last saw or even heard from you! I hope life is treating you well.”

“Well enough. Listen, I need you help. You can still do that astral projection thing, right? Could you use that power to steal something?”

 

“Let me make sure I understand.” Orpheus said incredulously over his sandwich. Brock had agreed to meet him for lunch in the town nearest to the OSI base. “You want me to steal an item you believe Doctor Venture distributed to a villain which allowed that villain to kill his arch?”

“Yeah.”

“And you cannot do this yourself because…?”

“I told you, I don’t know exactly where this research lab is. They don’t keep their scientists on the base for security reasons and I have a hunch we don’t have the time for me to do this the old fashioned way.” Brock grimaced. “How is the doc, anyway? Have you heard from him recently?”

“Alas, no.” Orpheus said solemnly. “The last I saw of him was shortly after you and the boys left the compound. I went by to see if perhaps he needed some cheering up, poor fellow, all alone in that huge empty place, and he threw me out.” Orpheus’s tone grew colder. “I daresay that Killinger fellow brainwashed him, yes? Turned him away from the things and people he loved. I cannot think of any other reason he’d allow you and the children to be parted from him, he always seemed so devoted to you all.”

Brock felt something cold slide down into his stomach, and he took a quick spoonful of his soup which did nothing to counter the effect. “You think?” He grunted after a moment.

“Oh, most definitely. Why, the first time we ever spoke I noted to myself that he was very peculiar about his family, very peculiar. I love my Triana but I would never dream of homeschooling her, that’s always seemed a sign of overprotective parenting to me. It was such an abrupt change of heart for him to send Hank and Dean to boarding school.”

“Yeah.” Brock muttered, looking down into his minestrone, but his mind was on another aspect of what Orpheus had said. Brainwashing? _Doc?_ Brock doubted it could be done in any traditional _medical_ sense but then, what did he know? Doctor Venture had always been pretty susceptible to suggestion where his self-image was concerned.

But there would be time to be uneasy about this later, when he had the box back and knew more about what exactly was going on. He finished his soup and arranged to meet Orpheus later in the evening.

Orpheus appeared in front of the fountain they’d chosen as their rendezvous point fifteen minutes late, sweating and panting, with his hair a mess and a cut on his forehead, but carrying the black box under one arm. Brock took it from him with thanks and asked if he wanted a lift home or to the hospital to have his head looked at. Orpheus waved him away.

“It is superficial and I do not believe myself to be concussed. However, I would very much like to accompany you to Billy and Pete’s trailer, if that is where you are planning to take this item.”

Brock said he was and started to protest that he really didn’t think Orpheus needed to come with him, he would let him know what they found, but Orpheus insisted.

“I will admit I have worried on and off about Doctor Venture for a number of years, especially since I have been rebuffed at every opportunity to get in touch with him. I would very much like to speak to somebody who has kept up with him better, as I’m sure our albino and midget friends have done, hmm?”

So Brock let Orpheus get into his car and they drove the several hours to meet Billy and White.

 

Orpheus was disappointed to find that neither of them had kept up with Doctor Venture, either. Brock was _worried_. The uneasiness he’d felt over the conversation about brainwashing had returned full force as he listened to Billy grumpily tell Orpheus that the last they’d heard from the doc was the night they’d gone to his place to see if he’d be able to use his new connection with the Guild to get them approved for an arch only to find that he was packing up to move.

“So he’s not living at the compound anymore?” Brock asked White as Billy carefully unscrewed another section of the black box and set it down onto the coffee table in front of him.

White chuckled from his spot spread out on the couch. “Nah, the Venture compound’s gone. Was torn down, what, Billy, three years ago?”

“Four, I think. There’s an aluminum plant there now.” Billy shrugged and then winced as the black box sent a small shock through his metal arm.

“And you don’t know where he went?” Brock pressed, exchanging a concerned look with Orpheus.

“Nah, like I said, he pretty much told me not to contact him again the last time I saw him.”

Orpheus tsked. “And you went along with that? Good gracious man, you’ve known each other since college-“

“So has Brock and I don’t see Doctor Venture being all chummy with _him_ now he’s got the Guild behind him.” White said with a harsh laugh. “No offense, Brock. I would’ve always assumed you’d be the person he’d want keep in his life if it all went to hell.”

Brock nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Guys, I think I figured out what this thing is.” Billy said. He did not sound happy.

White leaned over to look into the box. Billy poked him in the arm. “Like you know anything about anything, Pete.” He said with an eye roll. “Orpheus, come look at this.”

Orpheus moved around to stare into the box, then recoiled with a gasp and a hand pressed on his heart.

“What?” Brock demanded, standing up.

“This is… oh dear. I am a bit… speechless, I find.” Orpheus said tremulously. “I believe… this is a machine meant to raise the dead.”

Billy made a satisfied noise. “Glad you agree.” He put the lid back on the thing and stared around at the rest of them. “From what I can tell, Rusty Venture has been experimenting with necromancy.”

Brock frowned. “But I found this at a crime scene. That guy who killed his arch this week. He was definitely dead.”

Orpheus stroked his beard. “Do you recall the good doctor ever working with such a thing before?”

The room full of Hank and Dean clones flashed in his mind’s eye, but Orpheus seemed to have remembered those events as well. “ _Besides_ the unfortunate incident with the twins.”

White and Billy gaped but Brock ignored them. The incident with the Frankenstein dude stood out starkly in his memory but he didn’t even know how to begin getting into that with the others.

“Yeah, there was something.” Brock said after a moment.

“And?” Orpheus prompted.

“And I think I gotta find the doc and try and figure out what’s going on.” Brock said, clapping his hands together. “Thanks for all your help, fellas, but I need to get going.”

Billy nodded. “Happy to help.”

“Yeah, you’ll let us know how it all shakes out, huh, Brock?” White asked. Brock nodded.

Orpheus cleared his throat. “I feel as if I should accompany you but at the same time-“

Brock clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. I’ll be in touch.” Orpheus looked relieved.

“Tell him from me he ought not to be meddling in such things if he is truly attempting some kind of scientific necromancy. It is a complicated branch of study and one ought not to do it alone.”

“I’ll make sure he gets the message. Oh, and if any of you hear anything out of the ordinary, or if the doc tries to get in touch with you… let me know, okay?” Brock said, stepping out the door and down the steps of the trailer. He got back into his car and headed off into the night, the starry desert sky strewn above him.

A picture was starting to form in Brock’s head but it was an incomplete one. The last time the doc had been working on something like this he’d wanted to sell an army of zombies to the military, to be used as carriers for bombs. But there hadn’t been any reports of bombings, or of zombies, so what was Doc doing with these black boxes? And what was the arching murder connection? There were too many pieces of the puzzle missing. Brock would have to either find the doc or wait for more intel.

He didn’t have to wait long. By the time the sun rose he was nearing the OSI headquarters and receiving an incoming call to report to Treister’s office at once. Brock rubbed his eyes and squinted at the rising sun before grabbing the black box and readying himself to get chewed out about it.

Treister was mad as hell that the box had disappeared, and practically apoplectic when Brock handed it over. He ranted for a good ten minutes about how he ought to demote him, how he was a disgrace to the organization, the same old schtick. At the end he let Brock know there’d been another murder, again by a relatively new villain of his rival. Unfortunately, the guy’s body was missing so they weren’t sure how exactly it had happened. Brock nodded his way through the rest of the conversation and hurried out of the base.

It took some finagling and he had to call in a favor and sleep with someone in forensics for information but eventually Brock managed to learn the names of the villains that had committed the murders and where they were being held. He was a bit out of practice interrogating someone but he made it work.

Both of them had a similar story. They’d been approached by a villain calling himself Vengeance who had sold them a weapon to kill their arch on the condition they left it behind when they abandoned the scene. Neither of them could really tell him in any detail how the black boxes worked, nor could they tell him how he might be able to find Doc.

Brock knew he should talk to somebody higher up in the OSI. If Doc was selling stuff to villains to kill people, the more people that knew and were working on finding him or solving the problem, the faster it’d get solved. But somehow he didn’t like the idea of somebody else getting to the bottom of this. Somehow this was personal. He’d looked after the Venture family for too many years to let some stranger step in and cause trouble. Brock supposed he’d just have to do some sleuthing for the time being.

Sleuthing. There was an idea. The boys may know where their dad was and how to get in touch with him, and even if they didn’t, Brock suspected they’d be only too happy to help him track him down. Dean hadn’t changed that much in the recent years, he still loved a good mystery.

Dean was thrilled to hear from Brock, but told him that he didn’t know where exactly Doctor Venture was living these days. He did tell Brock he’d figure it out if Brock gave him twenty four hours, though, and true to his word, he called Brock back the next day and spent a good fifteen minutes walking Brock through the investigation he’d done to find his dad. Brock let him. He’d missed seeing the kid- well, man, now, he supposed- so animated. It was good to know that spark of enthusiasm hadn’t been dimmed by any of the years between now and when they’d all lived in the compound together. Whether the doc would remain as unchanged remained to be seen.

Brock set out for the address Dean had dug up for him, located in central Manhattan, of all places. It was suitably expensive and upper-class for somebody who’d spent his entire adult life scrambling to live up to the reputation of his much more successful father, but Brock had never gotten the impression the doc particularly enjoyed crowds or strangers. He’d have to ask him about it when he saw him.

Except Brock was rebuffed at the door to the building by two security guards who were almost as big as he was and who were carrying much larger, more deadly weapons.

“C’mon, fellas, Doctor Venture and I go way back. At least, I dunno, page him and let him know I’m here.”

One of the guards glared at him while the other retreated into the building and spoke in a hush into a speaker on the wall. After several moments he returned, looking grim.

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

Brock bared his teeth at the man, feeling very frustrated. “Yeah? Well, _I_ want to see _him_ , so you’re just gonna have to let me through.” Brock made to push past them and the one on the left drew a gun on him. He snorted at the embellished V on the side.

“Look…” He said, taking a deep breath. “I really need to see him. It’s…” Brock cast about wildly. “It’s about Hank.”

The guards looked at each other, then one of them smirked. “Nice try. We’re not to let anybody in here under any circumstances, not even reports from questionable sources about the doctor’s  _children_.” He sneered the last word.

The started ushering him back out of the building. Brock dug his feet into the ground and pushed back.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Doc might have changed, who knew, but Brock had a hard time believing he’d changed enough that he’d instill his employees with this kind of disdain for the twins. His mind flashed back to what Orpheus had said about Killinger and an awful idea formed in his mind. “Who do you work for? Henry Killinger?”

The guards laughed as the pushed him through the threshold of the building and out into the bustling New York street. “No. We work for Vengeance.”

The door slammed closed in Brock’s face.

Brock didn’t know what was worse: that idea that Killinger might have warped Doc’s affection for his family and cut him off from the people he cared about, or the possibility that Doc had done it himself of his own volition. In any case it didn’t look like Brock was getting to him directly. So maybe through the Guild? Could a non-Guild member appeal to the Guild for information? What other options did he have?

Not many, Brock thought with something approaching distress, as he drove out of New York and down the interstate, turning up the music as he went as though it could drown out his thoughts. None of Doc’s friends had been able to get in touch with him. He obviously didn’t keep up with Dean if Dean had had to put his skills as a journalist to use to get Brock the address of his new building. And Hank hadn’t expressed interest in talking to his dad since after the boys’ high school graduation, so he was off the list. There was nobody from their old lives who he could go to for help, so unless he wanted to get in touch with Mol to break into the building together, Brock was fresh out of options.

He didn’t even know why he was so worried. So a few heroes had died, so what? It’s not like people didn’t die in the fallout of the Guild’s activities every day. The number of henchmen Brock had slain on the grounds of the old compound was proof of that. It wasn’t even that he was worried Doc might be up to something bigger and more dangerous, because if that were the case, Brock would have heard something about it through the OSI by now. And the Doc he knew wasn't competent enough to pull off a long con, so he could probably rule that out as well.

No, Brock thought as the sun set in front of his speeding car for the second time in two days, he was worried about _Doc_ , personally. It was really uncomfortable, actually, because Brock had been worried about Doc plenty of times in the past (his role in Doc’s life kinda made that a given) but never with this desperate urgency. Usually he knew what was happening or what was about to happen- kidnapping, torture, attacks by the Monarch, yet another death of the twins... those Brock could deal with because he had known exactly what he was supposed to do in those situations. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do about a Rusty Venture who had all but disappeared from the world only to start selling a mysterious technology to up-and-coming supervillains. He didn’t know what he _owed_ the man in this circumstance. Did he even owe him anything? Hadn’t he been released from that position when he’d stopped being the Venture family’s bodyguard?

He was gonna have to try and get in touch with the Guild.

 

He actually ended up contacting The Monarch- or, more specifically, he ran into Dr Mrs The Monarch as he was coming out of the latest similar clean-up. This was the fifth in two weeks and he would have missed her completely as he hurried out of the dead protag’s home, he was so distracted, if she hadn’t grabbed him and pulled him into the shadowy confines of the man's yard shed. Brock drew his knife and had it pressed up against her throat before he recognized her and dropped his arm with a huff and an eye roll.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked. She huffed right back at him.

“I heard you’d been investigating these murders.” She said with a shrug.

“Yeah? You here to give me some much-needed info? I’m having a hard time convincing the Guild to answer my questions.”

She squinted at him. “You’re trying to get information from the Guild? About what?”

“About Doctor Venture. Or should I say about _Vengeance_?” Brock corrected himself with a loud sigh. “I can’t say I’m surprised he didn’t pick a more creative name.”

Dr Mrs The Monarch laughed. “Yeah. I kinda like it, though, if we’re being honest. It… works for him, considering his backstory.”

Brock sighed again. “I doubt you pulled me in here to talk about the doc’s suitability to be a villain, _Dr Mrs The Monarch_.” He snorted at the title. Villains and their naming conventions.

“Actually that’s exactly why I wanted to talk to you.” She said grimly. “And please, call me Sheila.” Brock opened his mouth to say he’d have preferred she tried to call him rather than track him down to his work but she cut him off before he could start. “You’re wasting your time trying to get information out of the Guild. They’ve been undergoing some changes the last month or so. Most people haven’t noticed but I dated somebody climbing through the ranks for years, I know what to look out for.”

Brock looked down at her in confusion. “So, what, The Monarch’s taking over the Guild?”

“No, you dummy.” She poked him hard in the chest. “ _Doctor Venture_ is taking over the Guild.”

Brock stared. “Why would the doc want to be in charge of the Guild? He hates bureaucracy. Or, he hates being in the midst of bureaucracy. He loves for it to keep other people busy.”

Sheila waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t know, you know him better than I do. But there have been some weird systematic changes in the recent past that definitely track with the rise in protagonist murders, and the tech Doctor Venture has been distributing seems to be at the center of it.”

Brock nodded. “So, you gonna tell me more about these systematic changes or do you want me to guess?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe of the shed.

“I can’t tell you official Guild business.” Sheila said with an irritated look. “I came to you because The Monarch wants to make a deal.”

“Yeah?” _Now_ Brock was interested. “Tell me more.”

 

The Monarch’s deal, it turned out, was to help Brock break into the doc’s new building.

“He’s completely monopolizing Guild resources.” The Monarch grumbled. “He’s not even supposed to be there. How am I supposed to arch him if we’re working on the _same damn side now_?”

Sheila clucked her tongue as Brock rolled his eyes. “You want to break into the doc’s building to arch him? Why do you need me?”

The Monarch looked uncomfortable. “Well, no, I want to break in because the Guild- the specifics are not really important. The point is, there’s a difference between being a villain and being evil.”

Brock turned his head so fast it hurt his neck. “You think the doc’s evil?”

“Infiltrating an organization to advance a goal of murdering people isn’t what I’d call good.” Sheila pointed out. “And you know that’s what he’s been doing with the tech he’s selling to lower level Guild members.”

Brock considered this. “Why do I get the impression you’ve got more information than I do?”

“Because we do.” The Monarch snapped. “Now are you going to help me break into Venture Tower, or not?”

Brock sighed and rubbed at his brow. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… yeah. When are we going?”

 

Getting in Doc’s stupid tower turned out to be surprisingly difficult. It was a tall sleek building made of blue metal and large panes of glass, rising into the New York City skyline like every cliché about compensation. Brock thought it was a little funny, actually, but he wasn’t gonna trash talk Doc in front of The Monarch and his wife.

They’d planned to break in through the glass which made up much of the upper floors by just smashing the Monarchmobile through a window. This failed miserably. The flying car rebounded off the glass with steam issuing from under the hood. Brock stretched his head up to look at the top of the building and noted that it tapered into a point so there was no use trying to land it up there, and directed the Monarch to set it down on the pavement in front of the door.  He did so, swearing under his breath the whole way. When they set down he jumped out and stuck his head under the hood before, with a sigh of exasperation, he threw the keys to his wife.

“You know how bad I am at driving when it’s like this so you hold onto those.”

“Sure, honey.”

The trio ran into the lobby of the building, Brock taking out the same two security guards he’d seen the other day with ease. Amazing how easy it was to kill somebody when you were really motivated.

They fought their way through a wave of henchmen, all dressed in the same blue and grey suits the two at the front had worn. It was easy. It was… fun. Brock had missed it.

The elevator only went up to the twenty-second floor. They’d have to climb the remaining flight of stairs, which meant first they’d have to get through the security system at the stairwell.

“That’s gotta be a fire hazard.” Brock muttered as Sheila disarmed the device with her tongue between her teeth. They hurried through the door.

Brock was just starting to think that he’d been an idiot for expecting this to be difficult when The Monarch gasped dramatically.

Coming towards them were a group familiar faces. The protags that had been murdered in the last weeks, minus the first whose body was still in the OSI morgue, were bearing down on them. Four people in blue and grey, three men and a woman.

“What the hell is this?” Brock shouted to the others as he dodged a bolt of lightning.

“The latest from Vengeance!” The Monarch yelled back from across the room, where he was pulling a small bomb out of his pocket and preparing to hurl it at the woman who was turning into a large bird before their eyes. “Some kind of mind control on the dead!”

Brock grit his teeth. Orpheus had said he thought the black boxes were some kind of necromancy but he hadn’t expected anything like this… this was some dark shit, even for Doc.

“Now do you see why we needed you along?” The Monarch shrieked as the bird person exploded, covering them all in chunks of viscera and feathers.

Brock pushed Sheila out of the way of the way of another bolt of lightning and ran forward to stab the guy. He didn’t have very good reflexes, but the knife in his side didn’t do much anyway.

The Monarch screamed in irritation. “He’s already dead, you idiot, stabbing him isn’t going to help!”

“Yeah, thanks so much!” Brock snapped back. “Got any more of those bombs?”

The Monarch shook his head and Brock sighed massively as he maneuvered out of the reach of a growth of vines that was snaking towards him from one of the remaining zombies. He pulled his knife out of the lightning guy and, with a massive swing and a yell, made to chop his head off. He kept moving for another five seconds after, sending lighting through the stairwell, but then collapsed.

“Nice!” Sheila yelled. She took off her crown and tossed it to Brock, who looked at it for a moment before noticing that it was a complex set of gears and tiny, sharp saws. He shoved it onto the head of the vine guy and ducked out of the way. He fell forward, flailing, as the crown burrowed down into his head.

“Good thing they stop moving if you destroy their head!” Brock yelled at the others.

“Yeah, it’s lucky the device controls from the brain!” Sheila shouted back.

They were down to one of the zombies, and Brock gripped the handle of his knife as he moved forward to take it out, but it retreated up the stairs with surprising speed.

“What do you think that was about?” he asked the other two. The Monarch shrugged.

“I don’t know, man, let’s just… let’s just find Doctor Venture.”

They climbed up the stairs and made their way out into the topmost floor of the tower. It was an office, decorated in the same blue and grey as the rest of the building. Points to the doc for a consistent style, anyway. Brock hadn’t seen any of the wood paneled walls or the paisley from the compound, and it made him a little wistful, actually.

“I thought I might see you two sooner or later but I certainly didn’t expect it to be at the same time.” Came a voice from the center of the room.

Brock’s heart, which had been returning to a normal speed after fighting off the four dead protags in the stairwell, sped right back up again as a chair lowered from the ceiling in the center of the room. There was the doc, wearing skintight blue with a large V and lighter gloves and boots, and a tight, pinched smile.

“Oh, and Mrs Monarch as well. Reconsider my offer from the day of your wedding?”

Sheila put her hands on her hips. “I’m very happy with my marriage, Doctor Venture.”

“Ah, well.” The doc shrugged. “Your loss.”

“Look, we really need to talk.” The Monarch said, striding forward. There was a sound like someone dropping a rubber ball onto concrete and The Monarch said “oof!” and bounced backward, losing his balance and landing on his ass.

Doc laughed. “Do you like my force field?” He said, waving a hand. A panel stretching from one side of the room to the other, separating Brock and The Monarchs from Doc, shimmered briefly before turning completely invisible again. “It’s ingenious, one of my father’s inventions, but who’s counting? The most important invention has been mine, after all.” He didn’t sound fazed in the slightest.

“About that.” Sheila said, helping her husband up from the floor.

“Oh, alright.” Rusty rolled his eyes with a bored expression. “What do you want? You want me to stop the changes I’m making to Guild law, is that it?”

“Well… yes.” The Monarch said with irritation. “You have to know how this looks, Venture.”

“How does it look?” He asked, folding his hands in front of him and peering at them all over the top. The Monarch used to do that, Brock thought.

“Like you’re completely disregarding the purpose of the Guild. Like you’re planning some kind of… of… world domination scheme.”

Doc laughed. “I don’t want to rule the world.” He leaned his head back, looking at them more coolly. “I want to destroy it. Or, at least, the parts of it Jonas Venture built.”

Brock exhaled sharply. “Doc.” He called, stepping forward to join the Monarchs at the edge of the force field. “Look, your dad was a Grade A dick to you, but some of the stuff he did was good everyone else.”

“So?” Doc snapped, and for the first time, he looked like some of his composure was slipping.

“So, the world is a better place because of Jonas Ventures contributions, including those to Guild law. I know you, you’re not malicious. Well, not _really_.”

“Oh, aren’t I?” He pushed a button on the arm of his chair, and the fourth of the dead heroes walked forward from out of the shadows. “How do you justify this, then, Brock?”

Brock looked from the zombie to Doc. “I dunno, how do _you_?”

“This is what I want: I want the Guild gone. I want the system of arches and protagonists to disappear. I want people to go back to living their lives without this ridiculous-“ he took a deep breath and stopped speaking. “Unfortunately, most protagonists are too goody goody to take an offer for a weapon that will let them kill their arch. So, I’ve been selling it to less moral members of the Guild instead. Once they murder their counterparts, I use this-“ he waved what looked like a remote over the arm of his chair, “to control them. Eventually I’ll have enough to take on higher and higher Guild members, until there’s nobody left at all.”

Brock looked at the others. The Monarch’s mouth was hanging open. “You want to _kill off the entire Guild_? To get back at your _father_?” He laughed. “Man, I knew you were messed up but this is some next level convoluted fuckery, Venture.”

“Is it.” Doc said, his tone unimpressed.

“Yeah, man, like… really fucked up. You know, I was saying to Brock, the reason I wanted to come see you is because there’s a fine line between villainous and evil and I think you might have crossed it.”

Doc blinked behind his blue glasses, but rearranged his face into a scowl.

“You don’t think I can make evil work for me?” He pressed a button on his remote and the zombie in the corner moved forward. “We’ll see about that.” The zombie grabbed The Monarchs and dragged them back in the blink of an eye. All three of them vanished into a small side room, both of the Monarchs screaming. Brock leapt forward to help them but slunk back as the door closed, rounding on Doc again. He was watching Brock with a wary expression.

“Doc.” Brock said, trying to keep his voice from sounding angry. But he was very angry, partially at himself. It was beyond stupid that Doc had managed to get this far, to _go_ this far.

“Brock?” Doc responded, raising an eyebrow.

“Doc… this isn’t…” Brock moved to stand in front of the forcefield again, gesturing towards him. “This isn’t you.”

“This has always been me.” Doc said with a short laugh.

“No, doc, it hasn’t. You’re a whiny selfish pain in the ass with some kind of complex and you hate your dad but you’re not evil.” Why did he suddenly feel the urge to smile? “You love your sons and you sing showtunes in the shower and you cry at the end of Gone With The Wind, for christsake.”

“You should know as well as anyone that the Guild and the OSI are full of people like that, nobody gets into this business because they like killing puppies. This is a _job_.” He said, his voice trembling slightly. Brock took this as an improvement over the indifference that had characterized him so far.

“This isn’t about a job, doc.” He said softly. “This is about you. How long has it been since you’ve talked to Hank or Dean? Or Pete or Billy? Or, hell, Orpheus?” When was the last time _we_ talked, Brock thought, and felt a sudden weight on his chest.

“What does that matter? I’ve finally found something I’m good at, and if that thing is evil, well. Why would I want any of the rest of you around to see _that_?”

Oh. So it hadn't had anything to do with Killinger, after all. This had been Doc, just Doc and his fucking self-image. The weight on Brock's chest seemed to buckle. He was an idiot.

Dpc stood up, his arms crossed, his shoulders hunching slightly. It wasn’t until he’d dropped back into his familiar shrinking posture that Brock realized he’d managed to shed it in the intervening years and had been holding himself comfortably before.

“Doc-“

“Shut up, Brock. I’m good at this, and do you know how long I’ve tried to be good at something?” He was shaking. “My whole life, Brock! I’ve never been-“ He choked and put a hand on his forehead, turning away.

Brock tried to step forward but the forcefield held him back. “Would you take this stupid thing down?”

“Why?” His voice was slightly muffled by his hand.

“Because I have a feeling you’re gonna need someone to hold you in a minute.”

Doc laughed weakly. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “My whole damn life, Brock. This is what I’m good for.” He sat down heavily in the chair, tucking his legs up underneath him and curling in on himself, and pressed a button on the armrest.

The force field shimmered and came down. Brock walked to the chair and, after a moment’s hesitation, scooped Doc into his arms and sat down in his spot, arranging Rusty Venture on his lap and laying his head on his shoulder. Brock could feel him shaking as he cried silently.

“Why are you here?” He said in a choked rush.

Brock took Doc’s glasses off and wiped a tear off his cheek. He honestly wasn’t sure, except that he knew he had to be, that he was responsible for this man. “It’s what I do.” Is what he said.

Doc chuckled.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

The smile slid off Doc’s face as quickly as it had appeared. “No, I… I sent you away. I didn’t want…” he sighed. “You and the boys, and everyone else, you deserve better.”

“Yeah, we do.” Brock said, and Doc winced. “So why don’t you stop playing master of the universe and come home? Be a normal fucking supervillain. Or, hell, quit if you want. I bet The Monarch would be thrilled.”

Doc shook his head. “I killed people.”

“We’ve killed people for years.” Brock said, rolling his eyes. “Remember when we had potential arches outside the door day and night? I probably killed ten people a day for a while there.”

Doc narrowed his eyes. “I suppose that’s true.”

Brock nodded. “It is. Stop moping and come down out of your fucking ivory tower.”

“The tower’s made of cobalt.”

“It’s an expression.”

“I knew that.” He snapped.

“Sure.” He said skeptically. He shifted Doc’s weight on him, and they were level, eye to eye. Doc leaned forward and pressed his lips to Brock’s, and all of a sudden, Brock knew why he’d been so invested. Why he’d gone to all this trouble to find out what was going on. It was so fucking obvious in retrospect.

“I think I might love you.” He said in a low voice.

“Thank god for that.” Doc replied, a little bit breathless. 

They looked at each other for a moment. Later, Brock thought, he was going to take Doc out of this awful costume, and he was going to watch him break apart under his touch and his tongue. But first they should probably let The Monarchs out of whatever closet Doc had stuff them in, and then Brock needed to call everyone and let them know everything was going to be alright. Finally, everything was going to be alright. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, finishing writing this: this is some sappy gay ooc bullshit  
> me: *changes nothing, posts it anyway*


End file.
